


You Make Me Feel Like I Could Fly

by feraldanvers



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Comeplay, M/M, Oral Sex, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-02-11 08:32:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2061216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feraldanvers/pseuds/feraldanvers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Sam meets Jim, their timing is terrible, and the next time seems like it's just more of the same. Maybe if they learned to use their words better, it wouldn't take a giant cephalopod to put them on the road to getting it together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Make Me Feel Like I Could Fly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [susan_voight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/susan_voight/gifts).



“Is this seat taken?”

Sam didn’t come out to the bar looking to pick anybody up, he really didn’t. He’d just needed to get off base, to settle his nerves, and to pretend like he wasn’t freaked as hell about what he had to do in the morning. This guy, though… he’s hot, a little older than Sam, and smiling in a way that makes Sam sure that he could send him away without any hard feelings. He doesn’t feel like sending him away.

“It is now,” he says, corner of his mouth curling up as he gestures to the empty stool. “I’m Sam.”

“Jim,” the guy says as he sits, offering his hand for a handshake that’s firm and lingers a little. Sam takes a gulp of his drink, his stomach fluttering for an entirely different reason now, and Jim chuckles. “Easy, man. I didn’t mean to push you into the bottle just by showing up.”

“Nah,” Sam says, rolling his eyes and tipping his glass toward Jim. “It’s just ginger ale. I’m pure as the driven snow, over here.”

“Right,” Jim laughs. “So, forgive me, but what brings a guy like you—any guy, really—to a place like this for a soft drink?”

“I wanted to get some air,” Sam admits, “and then I remembered the air in Albuquerque is like the inside of an oven, and this place had A/C, so…”

“I get you. It could be worse, though. At least—”

“Dude, if you say the words ‘dry heat’ to me, I’m gone.” Jim grins at him, and mimes zipping his lips. He’s got a drink of his own, and he sips it slowly. “So aren’t you gonna ask what brings a delicate flower like me out to the desert?”

“Do you want me to?” Jim asks, cutting his eyes over, just a hint of amusement.

“Not really,” Sam says. “My mind’s just going a mile a minute, and I could use a distraction.”

Jim looks thoughtful for a moment, giving Sam an appraising look before downing the last of the amber liquid in his glass. “I’ve got a room,” he says, just a little bit hesitantly. “The air conditioning is… functioning, at least.”

“Is it,” Sam says, dry, but then he smiles, and Jim smiles back. By the time the bartender turns to offer them a top off, there’s a twenty lying on the bar and two empty stools behind it.

—

“You feeling sufficiently distracted?” Jim’s panting a little, sprawled across the bed with nothing on but one sock dangling half-off his foot.

“Nnh.” Sam’s face is buried in the pillow, his ass still tingling from the way Jim had worked him over. He’d thought, back at the bar, that the guy had a nice mouth, but now he knows he was wrong. That mouth isn’t nice. That mouth is probably illegal in seventeen states.

“Yeah,” Jim agrees. “Me too.” He rolls over, settling in snugly against Sam’s side, and presses a kiss to his shoulder, and they both doze like that for a while before Sam starts shifting around.

“Shit,” he mumbles, looking at the clock.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I just…” He twists around so Jim is pulled against his chest, stroking fingers down his spine. “I don’t want you to think I’m bailing on you, but I can’t be out all night.”

Jim stiffens. “Okay,” he says carefully. “Is it… I guess I should have asked. Are you not single?”

“What?” Sam laughs a little nervously, pulling back far enough to see Jim’s face. “No, of course not. I mean, I am, just… I have to report in at Kirtland at ass-o’clock in the morning, and they expect me to stay in the quarters there tonight.”

He expects Jim to relax, but it doesn’t happen. Sensing that the mood’s been broken, and with no small amount of disappointment, Sam extricates himself from the sheets and Jim’s arms and climbs out of the bed to start pulling his clothes on.

“Sam—”

“Did you see where my belt went?” Sam asks, not wanting to hear what Jim has to say, because just that one syllable sounded like it was the first step toward ruining a good night. He walks across to look around by the door—they’d started out pressed up against it, and had been mostly naked by the time they got to the bed—and a folder on the little two-person dining table catches his attention.

It’s wedged under a stack of manuals, but he can make out a TOP SECRET stamp, and the neatly printed label on the tab says _EXO-7 Falcon Trials._ His stomach drops like a stone. He starts to reach out for it, but stops himself even before Jim clambers off the bed.

“That’s classified,” he says curtly, although the effect is dampened by the way he’s clutching a sheet around his waist.

“It’s not like I haven’t already seen that,” Sam says, voice deliberately light as he nods toward Jim’s crotch. Jim shifts uncomfortably. “Or that,” he adds uncertainly, reaching out to tap the folder.

Jim stares at him, then at the file, then his gaze cuts left to stare at the wall. He pulls the sheet a little tighter as he closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath, then: “Please tell me you’re not Sam Wilson.”

Sam shrugs as casually as he can, as if his heart’s not racing. “Guilty.” The odds of him meeting someone else assigned to the Falcon project in a bar ten miles off base weren’t nonexistent, but it’s still not at all what he had wanted. They’re both adults, though, and he doesn’t see any reason why this should be a huge deal.

“You have to know I had no idea,” Jim says, and Sam frowns. “I would never purposely take advantage of—”

“Whoa, I’m gonna need you to back up a step. You didn’t take advantage of anything. Enthusiastic consent: you had it.”

“Yeah, but…” Jim sighs, then shuffles his way over to where his boxers and undershirt are lying on the floor. He’s quiet as he pulls them on, finally letting go of the sheet he’d been clutching so desperately, and then he stands fidgeting in front of Sam as if he’s not sure what to do with his hands. “Major James Rhodes,” he says, finally meeting Sam’s eyes. “I’m overseeing the Falcon trials.”

“Shit,” Sam breathes, stiffening a little and fighting down the instinct to stand at attention or, even less appropriately, offer a salute. His hand twitches anyway. “Major, I had _no_ idea, I swear to God.”

“I know,” Jim says tiredly. “I didn’t think that was an Air Force bar, or I might have asked a few more questions.”

“Yeah, same here.” They’re both looking at the floor now, the only sound in the room the rattling coming from the outdated A/C unit under the window.

“You’re a… Staff Sergeant, right?”

“Master Sergeant,” Sam says, chuckling. “Unless I was so bad you think I need knocked down a few pegs.”

“Jesus,” Jim says. “Please don’t even…”

“Sorry.” Sam shakes his head. “Bad joke, I know. But we’re both grown, right? You seem like a morals kind of guy, so you’re not going to, like, use this against me.” He doesn’t mean for it to come out as a question, but Jim shakes his head anyway.

“Of course I wouldn’t,” he says, frowning. “Not that _you’re_ the one that would get the bulk of the shit-storm if this got out.”

Sam knows he’s right, and he hates knowing that Jim has something to fear from him now.

“You know, I’m pretty sure we’d both get booted off this project either way, so you can be damn sure I’m not gonna say anything. So this didn’t happen, I’ll meet you in the morning for the first time _ever_ , and you’ll keep your playing favorites to a minimum.”

“A minimum,” Jim repeats, and Sam thinks he sees his mouth twitch.

“Yeah, I mean, I know you’re not going to be able to resist entirely, even without all this.” He gestures to the unmade bed, and even under Jim’s dark skin he’s sure that’s a blush. “I’m gonna be the best one out there, Major. No need to pretend otherwise.”

“Duly noted, Master Sergeant.” Jim’s eyes dart back toward the bed, and he bends over to reach for something. “Your belt,” he says, handing it over to Sam. Their fingers brush when he takes it, and he feels a sharp pang of disappointment at how quickly this came to an end. Sam threads it through his belt loops carefully, sighing when he’s done and giving Jim a rueful smile.

“See you in the morning,” he says quietly, and he steps in to brush a kiss against Jim’s cheek before he can talk himself out of it. Jim looks surprised, and maybe a little sad, but that might just be Sam projecting. He doesn’t say anything, just nods before Sam lets himself out.

The timing’s just fucked up— _all_ of it’s fucked up, really—and Sam spends most of that night awake, staring at the ceiling of his sterile dorm. The guy he’s sharing with was snoring like a freight train when he got there, but Sam doesn’t bother getting irritated. Between his first-day jitters and the memory of Jim’s hands all over him, he wasn’t going to get much rest to begin with.

The next day, he meets Riley, and everything changes, anyway.

—

_Four years later_

“Honestly, Steve, do you keep _anything_ in this fridge besides…” Sam pulls one of the bottles out, turning it to read the label. “Freedom Lager? Is this real?”

“It’s organic!” Tony calls from somewhere near the door, and Steve sighs gustily where he’s leaning against the island.

“I tried to buy other stuff, but Tony kept making it disappear. He thinks it’s funny.” Steve’s voice carries the heavy weight of a battle that he’s long since given up on.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Sam says, a little dubious, as he looks more closely at the bottle. “Wait. He imports this from England?”

“ _Irony_ ,” Tony says triumphantly, closer this time, and Sam unfolds himself from his crouch to say… something, he can’t remember what, because standing next to Tony is—

“Major— Sorry, Colonel Rhodes?”

Jim looks just as shocked as Sam feels, but he recovers quickly, leaning over the island to offer a hand to shake.

“Just Jim, please,” he says, because he must know that Sam’s separated from active duty now, and Sam knew that Jim was the Stark Industries liaison, but he definitely didn’t expect… he realizes belatedly that Jim’s had his hand out for a few excruciatingly long seconds, and he can feel Steve’s frown burning into the side of his head.

“Sorry,” he says, shaking his head. He takes Jim’s hand, shaking it firmly. “You just caught me by surprise.”

“Wait,” Tony says, arms folded across his chest. “You two know each other?”

“Tony, I _know_ you already knew that.” Jim looks exasperated.

“Okay, maybe, but _Jim?_ Nobody calls you Jim.”

“Lots of people call me Jim, Tony. You don’t have the monopoly on naming me, you know.”

“Well, I _do_ own this building, so as long as you’re here it’s Rhodey, or Colonel Rhodes, or Black Dynamite, and that’s final.”

Sam can’t help but feel like he’s been dropped in the middle of something especially weird, and he pointedly doesn’t look at the casual, comfortable way Tony’s inserting himself into Jim’s space.

“What if I wanted to be Black Dynamite?” he asks after a minute, smirking when it surprises a laugh out of Jim.

Tony gives him a long, thoughtful look. “It’s negotiable.” Jim throws an arm around Tony’s shoulders, and Sam tries very hard not to think about bad timing.

—

Sam’s only been out on the balcony a few minutes when he hears the door open. He doesn’t bother turning around, because he already knows who it is, but he’s embarrassed at the way his heart speeds up.

“It’s good to see you,” Jim says, stepping up to lean against the railing next to him. They’re about seventy stories up, and the wind gusts around them, but Jim’s close enough that his words carry easily.

“You too,” Sam says. Then, pointlessly: “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah. I’m…” Jim folds his arms, peering over the edge before turning to meet Sam’s eyes. “I heard about Riley. I’m so sorry, Sam, I know you two were close, and I wish I could’ve…”

“It’s okay,” Sam says, waving him off. He blinks past the burning in his eyes. “I saw the news, man. You were too busy chasing Iron Man around.”

“Yeah, well.” Jim puts his hand on Sam’s shoulder, squeezing lightly. “I’m sorry. It’s never easy.” Sam leans into the touch for a minute before taking a step back.

“I’m working on it,” he says. “It helps to have a mission again.”

“I hear you,” Jim says.

“So…” Sam begins after a few quiet minutes, keeping his voice as light as he can. “You and Tony Stark, huh? I knew you had the go-between thing with Stark Industries, but I didn’t know you were so tight.”

Jim snorts a laugh. “Yeah, me and Tony go way back. Don’t ever tell him I told you, but I don’t know what I would do without him.”

Sam remembers the news filtering through to his unit, about Tony Stark going MIA in Afghanistan. He’s glad, for Jim’s sake, that things turned out the way they did.

“You guys are close,” he says carefully. He doesn’t want to make it too obvious how interested he is, but they’d looked… _cozy_ , honestly, and he wants to nip the cautious interest he’s feeling in the bud.

“Tony keeps trying to get people to call them the Ambiguously Iron Duo,” comes a voice from behind them, and Sam whips his head around to see Clint perched on the railing behind them, looking amused. Sam just blinks. “You know, because the suits aren’t actually made of…” He frowns. “There’s this cartoon—”

“Dude, where did you _come_ from?” Sam knows he didn’t hear the door open.

“I was just, you know.” Clint gestures vaguely toward the sheer face of the building, which is not helpful at all. “I wasn’t eavesdropping,” he says defensively, “I just got here.” Sam stares at him. “Whatever, I’m hungry,” he grumbles, letting himself into the building.

“You get used to it,” Jim says after a minute, and Sam shakes his head.

“That’s what they keep telling me.”

—

There’s not a lot of time for Sam to bemoan his terrible luck, not when a few days later the Avengers get called out for a—

“I’m sorry, did you say a _giant squid_?” Sam feels a little lost, Tony and Clint already up and moving around the common area. It had just been the three of them at the tower that day, and Sam feels a little at loose ends.

“Pep had a meeting on the Upper East Side,” Tony says to the air, as Clint stands and watches him with barely-disguised impatience. “Make sure she stays clear.”

“Yes, sir,” JARVIS answers.

“Okay, sorry to repeat myself,” Sam tries again, “but just to confirm: giant squid?”

“In Central Park, yes, I know. Now less talking, more assembling,” Tony says sharply, tossing Sam an earpiece even as his suit wraps itself around him.

“But, I’m not…”

“Mr. Wilson,” JARVIS interrupts. “You’ll find your newly repaired wings in the lab on the fifty-eighth floor.”

“I, um. Thanks?” Tony spares Sam a nod before stepping out to the balcony, wrapping an arm around Clint, and rocketing off.

“You’re welcome, sir.” JARVIS’ voice follows him down the hall and into the elevator, and Sam fumbles to put in his earpiece. “Mr. Stark wanted to surprise you, but it seems he’s making me do his dirty work for him.” Sam raises an eyebrow, grinning despite himself. “If you’ll follow the emergency floor lights, they’ll take you directly to the lab.”

JARVIS doesn’t let him down, and he places a shaking hand on the handprint scanner outside the lab, surprised when it lets him in without an issue.

His wings are mounted up on a stand that looks like it was designed just for working on them, and they look as good as new—better, even. He only allows himself a few moments to stare before he’s closing and locking the wings and moving around to the other side to slip his arms into the harness. It’s easier with two people, maybe, but it still feels like shrugging on an old, well-worn jacket when he does up the straps across his chest. There’s a balcony that opens off this lab, which he suspects is not coincidental, and he grabs the flight goggles off the table before making his way out the door. Once he’s outside he gives the wings a few quick testing stretches before taking a running leap off the balcony, whooping as he drops toward the street below.

Maybe he has a little too much trust in Tony Stark, or maybe he’s just missed this too much to be careful, but when he spreads the wings and they catch on an updraft, his chest feels so full he could sing. He lets the air carry him in an easy glide over Columbus Circle before dropping down to skim the trees as he flies up Central Park West. He can hear Tony and Natasha, who’d been uptown when the call had come in, arguing over the comm link.

“Falcon incoming,” he says, heading toward the north end of the park on the hunch that the squid’s not gonna be wedged in the pond. “Where do you need me?”

“Do a fly-by over the lake,” Natasha says. “Iron Man can’t pick anything up, but we’ve got a whole crowd of eyewitnesses who swear they saw this thing.”

“Hey, are you second-guessing me?” Tony sounds indignant, and Sam rolls his eyes, just enjoying the feel of the air rushing past.

He hears “Iron Patriot coming through” only moments before Jim flies past, his suit a hilarious marriage between Tony’s armor and Steve’s uniform. He comes close enough that Sam has to adjust quickly for the way the air buffets his wings, like getting caught in the wake of a speedboat, and he can’t help but laugh.

“You star-spangled heroes sure do love to show off,” he says, beating his wings hard a few times to carry him up high over the lake, where he lets them flap slowly as he takes it in.

He can see Jim and Tony, circling low over the lake, but they both confirm that their scanners aren’t picking up anything. Sam feels… extraneous, honestly, and a little silly hovering in the air like this, but then—something moves under the water, just a brief shimmer, but he knows it was there.

“Iron Man, Iron Patriot!” His eyes dart back and forth, watching for another glimpse. “Get some altitude, _now!”_

It’s just in time, and he’s grateful that they react without questioning; as they both shoot upward away from the surface of the lake, three deep green tentacles whip out of the water, groping at the place they’d just been. One catches Jim by the foot, only enough to knock him off course, but Sam’s heart stutters anyway.

“It’s got some kind of cloaking,” Tony says. “It’s not showing up on any of the scans.”

“Visual only,” Jim answers. “Got it.”

Once they know what they’re looking for, it’s not hard to stay clear. It seems like the thing’s main advantage is the element of surprise, and without that it mostly just flaps its tentacles ineffectually at anyone who comes too close.

“I can’t get any readings on it,” Tony says, obviously irritated. “I don’t think it’s organic, but someone’s gonna need to take a closer look.”

Sam briefly considers volunteering, but Natasha makes an affirmative noise before he can. He watches, a little awed, as Clint draws its attention with a flurry of arrows from his uncharacteristically low perch on top of a pavilion. Clint’s hardly out of harm’s way, but he only has to keep up long enough for Natasha to make use of the distraction. She backs up enough to get a running start and leaps from a cluster of rocks along the shore to land on its slimy-looking body.

It’s a badass move, and even from his height Sam thinks he sees Nat smirk when he lets out a whoop. Her presence hasn’t gone unnoticed, though, and when the squid starts twisting in the water, whipping its tentacles, she has to hold on to keep from being flung into the lake.

“Falcon, with me,” Jim says over the comm. Let’s see if we can give it something else to focus on.”

“Roger,” Sam says breathlessly as they both drop into a dive toward the lake.

Jim catches a tentacle with a repulsor, which is enough to make the squid temporarily forget about Natasha. She takes advantage, Sam sees as he swoops in tauntingly close, producing an alarmingly long knife from somewhere on her person and slicing cleanly through one flailing tentacle right at its base.

It lets out a garbled noise of what might be pain, rolling hard to one side, and Sam watches in dismay as Natasha disappears under the water.

“Widow, _report,_ ” Jim orders over the comm, his voice tinged with the same worry Sam feels as he hovers just out of reach, watching the water. It’s only a few seconds before the squid twists back around and Sam spots a flash of Nat’s red hair.

“Just because Steve’s out of town doesn’t mean you get to use Cap voice, War Machine.” There’s only the barest hint of breathlessness in her voice to suggest she’d just been dragged underwater.

“Iron Patriot,” Jim corrects, clearly relieved.

Natasha mutters something in Russian that makes Clint snicker. “It’s definitely not organic. Can someone get my feet in the air? I want to try something.”

“On my way,” Sam says, darting in close as Jim and Clint keep it distracted. He loops an arm around Natasha’s waist and starts to lift her, and she gestures back down.

“Not so high,” she tells him, stretching her arm down to--oh, _ouch--_ hit the mess of exposed circuitry inside its severed tentacle with her widow’s bite. He tightens his grip as soon as it’s done, launching then both out of reach with a few hard beats of his wings.

“Nice one,” Tony says. “You shorted out its cloaking. Now just give me a minute... _Yes,_ we’ve got specs. It looks like its weak point is underneath. Think cloaca.”

“Ugh, _Tony_ ,” Clint groans. “Why.”

“Because I can. Captain Ironmerica, wanna go for a swim?”

“Right behind you,” Jim says, gesturing toward the water.

“I don’t even think that’s biologically accurate,” Clint mutters as they both disappear into the lake.

Sam brings Natasha back to the shore where Clint is waiting. “I don’t think that thing’s really a squid, either,” he says, and Clint shrugs.

They only have to wait around for a minute or two, and as they watch, the squid gives one last almighty flail before going limp. Tony and Jim emerge in short order, landing next to them and opening their faceplates.

People are starting to wander back toward the lake, the police perimeter quickly losing its effectiveness in the face of an apparently neutralized threat. Sam’s not exactly impressed, and turns to ask Natasha if it’s safe for people to—

“ _Tony_.”

“Uh oh,” Tony mutters, turning around to smile broadly at the woman approaching them. Sam recognizes her from the cover of Forbes last year, and she looks somewhere in the ballpark of pissed. He can’t blame Tony for getting nervous.

“Sea monster in the park? Really?”

“Hey, I told JARVIS to keep you clear,” he says, walking toward her but stopping when she puts a hand up. “Which reminds me—”

“No,” she interrupts. “I’ve asked you more than once not to treat me with kid gloves when it comes to Avengers business, and you could have just told me what was going on, but instead I’ve got Happy trying to take the FDR back to the tower like I’m not going to notice.”

“Man,” Sam says in an undertone. “How do they work together if she can’t stand him?” Natasha and Clint both cut disbelieving looks his way, and he hears Jim snort from the other side of him, but nobody answers.

“Come on, Pep,” Tony’s saying, but Pepper just makes an aggravated noise and starts walking back toward Fifth, graceful in the a pair of intimidating heels as Tony watches wistfully. Sam feels a little lost, honestly, which is a feeling he’s getting tired of.

It’s clear that the guy who jumps out from behind a bush—a _bush_ —catches them all by surprise, because he’s got an arm around Pepper and is holding her in front of him like a human shield before anyone gets a chance to react.

“Fuck you, Stark!” he yells over her shoulder, or kind of around it, because Pepper easily has six inches on him.

“Hey,” Tony says, scratching his chin. “Don’t I know you?” Sam can’t see his face, but his voice is casual in a way that sounds awfully forced.

“Know me?” the guy demands, pulling down on the arm across Pepper’s collarbone as he cranes his neck to make angry eye contact. “ _Know me?_ You can’t just throw people away, you asshole. I didn’t deserve to be fired, and you know it!”

Tony looks back over his shoulder toward the lake, a little furrow between his eyebrows, and then he sighs. “I knew that cloaking tech looked familiar. Did you pilfer that from R&D?”

“I didn’t steal it, I _designed_ it.”

“Stark Industries has proprietary rights to any technology that comes out of our R&D department,” Pepper says, sounding bored. “And you were fired for sexually harassing a female colleague, Stanley, so I’d appreciate it if you’d get your hands off me.”

Sam catches a glimpse of one bushy eyebrow raising in surprise before the guy makes an enraged noise and starts dragging her backwards.

“You ruined my life, Stark, and I’m gonna ruin yours!”

For some reason, nobody is making a move to stop him, even though he’s unarmed and alarmingly outgunned. Natasha is… smiling? Sam opens his mouth to say something, but then Pepper rolls her eyes aggressively and flips Stanley over her shoulder and to the pavement.

“Using a superhero’s girlfriend for revenge is a real cliche,” Pepper says, disdain saturating every word. Stanley groans.

“Pepper. Pep. Sun of my life.” Tony crosses to where she’s standing, brushing the wrinkles out of her blouse. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. I mean, top ten, assuming we’re incorporating multiple definitions of hot— _”_

Sam’s eyes go wide as Pepper moves in to kiss him, because it gets… intense, really fast, and Sam whips his head around to look at Jim. He’s got a pained look on his face.

“I’m still mad at you,” Pepper’s gasping as Tony pulls her in tight against the suit.

“Guys, can you take this somewhere with fewer than thirty tourists?” Jim asks. Tony nods, wrapping an arm around Pepper’s waist and closing his faceplate.

“Happy’s double-parked,” she huffs, but she’s stepping up to stand on his toes and smiling a little as Tony takes off back toward the tower.

“I’m…” Sam closes his mouth as everyone turns to look at him. “Tony’s dating Pepper Potts?”

“I think Pepper’s the subject of that sentence, not the object,” Natasha says. “But, yes. _Really_ , Wilson?”

“When’s the last time you picked up _Us Weekly_?” Clint asks, and Sam gives him a hard look. There’s no need to let anyone know that the Welsh exchange student he dated his junior year of college got him hooked on _Hello!_ and that he’s more likely to know the current gossip about the royal family.

“Clint, not everyone reads that trash,” Jim says.

“Yeah, Clint,” Sam agrees. “Trash. Geez.” Natasha gives him a weird look and he makes a mental note to cancel his subscription.

“But seriously.” Jim looks at him. “How did you not know they were together?”

“I just thought…” Sam rolls his eyes. “I thought _you_ , you know.”

“You thought _I_ was dating Pepper?”

“No, shit, of course not,” Sam says. Natasha bursts out laughing, and Sam’s ears get hot, and he turns around to take stock of the giant pile of robot squid sitting half-submerged in the lake. “So how does clean-up work for the Avengers, anyway?”

—

It turns out clean-up for the Avengers consists of Clint calling his SHIELD handler, who calls in a response team. They help out until the response team actually gets there, keeping the crowd at bay and distracting both civilians and press from the heap of machinery in the lake as well as they can. Sam kind of wishes Tony had stuck around long enough to re-engage the cloaking, so he wouldn’t have to try so hard to convince people there was nothing to see.

Stanley makes one half-hearted effort to crawl away, but all it takes is Natasha pointedly clearing her throat and moving into his path for him to give up.

“Not that I’m complaining,” Jim says once the SHIELD team has gotten there and one of the suits has given them a bland smile and a dismissal. “But as mad scientist supervillain types go, I’m not really impressed.”

“If you’re not complaining, then don’t complain,” Sam laughs. “Don’t tempt fate, _please.”_

Jim gives him a little smile, something Sam can’t quite read, then nods back toward where Natasha and Clint are talking to the agent who’d dismissed them. “They’ll be a while,” he says. “Ready to head out?”

Sam spends the return flight to the tower trying to convince himself that the swooping in his gut is a natural side effect of his showy flying, and that it doesn’t have anything to do with the way he can feel Jim’s eyes on him from where he’s keeping pace at Sam’s flank.

He follows Jim’s lead to land on the penthouse landing pad, disgustingly and exhilaratingly high above the city, and tries to stay still as Jim exits the suit and helps Sam remove his wing pack.

“I should go,” Sam says, his throat dry. “Get a shower.”

“You trying to tell me you broke a sweat out there, Wilson?” That little smile again. “I guess you’re getting soft,” he teases. “I seem to remember you thinking you were the best one in the air, and here you are all worn out when I _clearly_ outflew you.”

“That’s not flying,” Sam says, crossing his arms and fighting a smirk. “That’s driving a luxury car. Don’t think I don’t remember what a mess you were when you tried on the wings, Colonel.”

“Okay,” Jim says, leaning on kitchen counter. “So we _are_ talking about New Mexico? I kinda got the impression that was off limits.”

Sam knows that’s on him; he’d been resisting any attempts at private conversation over the past few days for fear of getting in the way of Jim’s happiness.

“Did _you_ want to talk about it?” Sam shuffles a little at the assessing way Jim looks at him.

“I can’t imagine why I wouldn’t,” Jim says. He frowns a little. “Did you really think I was with Tony?” Sam freezes. “Natasha texted me on the way back,” Jim explains, smiling sheepishly.

“I mean… yeah?” Sam scratches the back of his neck. “You guys are close, and today was the first time I’ve actually seen him and Pepper together, and, I don’t know. I guess I just didn’t believe…” He trails off, huffing a little in embarrassment.

“That a catch like me could still be single?” Jim suggests, stepping away from the bar and right up into Sam’s space. Sam rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling and he can feel his heart rate picking up. Jim reaches out, dropping a heavy hand onto Sam’s hip as he leans in closer. “That we’d get the timing right this time?” he tries, low and serious.

“That one,” Sam breathes, and then Jim’s mouth is on his and they’re toppling onto the sofa.

“I almost forgot how hot it is, seeing you use the wings,” Jim pants against Sam’s mouth, grinding his hips down. “The way you move, I just— _shit_ ,” he groans as Sam reaches around and digs his fingertips into the curve of Jim’s ass through his pants. He ducks down, mouthing at Sam’s neck before pushing his shirt up to expose his stomach. Sam’s hands slide up Jim’s back, to the back of his neck, as Jim trails messy kisses down his abdomen, and when Jim drags his teeth over the jut of Sam’s hipbone, Sam’s eyes roll back into his head.

“Almost—” He sucks in a breath. “Almost forgot how good your mouth is,” Sam manages, and Jim pulls away a little.

“Did you?” he asks, a hint of a smirk on his face as he undoes Sam’s belt and tugs his pants down.

“Maybe not,” Sam admits, grinning wildly, “but if I say I did, will you give me a refresher?”

Jim rolls his eyes, but he drops down to take Sam’s cock into his mouth with nothing short of enthusiasm. Sam’s hands scrabble at Jim’s shoulders, the back of his head, _anything_ he can use to ground himself as Jim works him over. Maybe it’s the adrenaline, or maybe it’s just _Jim_ , but it feels like it takes no time at all for his hips to start rolling up mindlessly, fucking into Jim’s mouth like he’ll die if he doesn’t.

“I’m gonna… _ah_ ,” Sam moans, voice feeling raw. “I’m so close already, Jim, _fuck_.”

Jim just makes a rough noise around him, and when Sam chances a look down he sees that Jim’s rocking into his own hand where it’s stuffed down the front of his pants. That’s about all he can stand, and when he comes it’s with a full-body shudder that has him grinding his hips and emptying himself down Jim’s throat.

Jim pulls off before he’s finished, catching the last few spurts of come with his fingers, and then he’s pulling himself out of his pants and using his come-slicked hand to jerk himself at a pace that’s almost frantic.

“Not gonna last,” Jim pants out, heavy-lidded eyes roving over Sam’s body, his softening dick. “God, I want to fuck you again,” he says, and it startles a moan out of Sam. “Get my mouth on you, open you up, you’re so—” His mouth falls open as he comes, spilling himself all over Sam’s stomach, a few stray spurts catching Sam’s cock and making him jerk. He drops down over Sam, on all fours so he stays clear of the mess he made, and Sam can’t help but let out a laugh.

“You officers,” he says, smiling so wide his face aches a little. “Always so fussy.” He drags his fingers through the come on his stomach and reaches up to press them against Jim’s mouth, biting his own lip when Jim just opens up for them, licking them clean.

“Don’t you start,” Jim says once Sam’s slipped his fingers free. “I might not outrank you anymore, but I won’t tolerate insubordination.” He nips at Sam’s fingers where they’re playing along his jaw before returning Sam’s grin.

“If you want to try roleplaying,” Sam says lightly, as if his dick isn’t already twitching. “All you have to do is ask.” Jim’s eyes widen a little, and he leans down to press a tender kiss to Sam’s mouth.

“Maybe we’ll start slow,” he says. “How do you feel about a shower first?”

“I make you break a sweat, Colonel?”

“If you suggest that I’m getting soft, I’ll be happy to prove you wrong.”

“You got yourself a deal,” Sam tells him. “And I’m holding you to it.”


End file.
